It Figures!

Society has thrust on me
More numbers than a lottery;
My new phone number’s now so long
Even the phone book gets it wrong,
And tax men, ciedit cards, and
banks
Have numbered me among their
ranks; Then recently the postal corps
Said Tm 5-7-3-6-4;
To buy pastrami I must wait
Till Max cries “No. 68!
My auto license, front and rear,
Is newly numbered every year,
And while my S. S. number’s pat
I think they drew it from a hat,
My summed-up mind is such a mess
That I keep dialing my address,
But most of all what spoils my fun
Is no one thinks I’m No. 1.